


Even With Missteps

by AetherAria



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: (other sec cit characters implied but not named), Costume Parties & Masquerades, Dancing, Lizard Kissin' Tuesday (Penumbra Podcast), Multi, Second Citadel (Penumbra Podcast), Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2020-11-10 19:56:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20857382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AetherAria/pseuds/AetherAria
Summary: There is a masquerade ball in the Citadel tonight. Every knight and citizen have turned out, and all of them bear disguises of monstrosity. What better time could there be, for a monster who needs to find a way inside?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> SO WHAT IF ARUM HAD TO DO HIS INFILTRATION DURING A DIFFERENT SORT OF CITADEL PARTY, IS ALL I'M SAYING... There might be more to this idea eventually, i don’t frickin know. I wrote all of this within the last like three days so I’m feeling a little punch drunk at the moment. Is any of this actually good?? Please tell me. 
> 
> Title from the song Little Trouble by Better Oblivion Community Center.

Arum slips in with the rest of the crowd. This is not particularly difficult. The entire writhing population of the Citadel seems to have turned out for this ridiculous, overblown party, a hot mass of humanity tittering and falling over each other and pouring into the courtyard and the smaller royal ballroom beyond. And all of them to a one are bedecked in absurd parody of monsterkind; horns and fangs and feathers, silk flowers and leaves for the affluent and recently cut branches for the less so, billowing fabrics for false nymphs and plastered-on muscle for facsimile ogres.

It’s a travesty, really. Arum can only stomach it because it fills him with a grim sort of humor to contemplate the fury of certain monsters at their human interpretations.

Arum’s disguise is simple. The thick layers of his own deep purple robes suffice to obscure most of his body, most of his scales, and he has his lower arms tucked into the folds, easily hidden by simply hugging his own midsection beneath the cloth. His robes also dip low enough to that only his feet show beneath, and he has used clay and cosmetics to obscure the shine of his claws and scales, to make his own features appear to be the true costume. His tail would be an issue, but he has painted it in a similar way to his claws, and if he only holds it stiff it looks a fair approximation of similar false appendages on some of the humans in attendance. For his other two hands he has long gloves with embroidered scales to cover his own, and his real claws pierce through as if part of the decoration. His hood is up, and beneath it is the centerpiece, his mask.

It is copper, decorated with the stylized face of a dragon that echoes the shape of his true face. The brows are heavy over the holes for his eyes in a way that shadows the inhumanity of them, and the way it rests on his face beneath the hood should rather skillfully maintain the illusion of a mere human beneath the metal. His height is such as to be _noticed_, but not such that he will be seen as alarming. A fair number of the knights he has passed already outpace him in that particular quality, anyway.

One knight guarding the entrance to the main ballroom appears to have simply applied charcoal to her armor with stripes of swirling orange painted in between, and her helm is affixed with a pair of dark antlers that chime with bells whenever she moves her head. She conveniently diverts her attention to berate her companion, who is dressed as a rather childish approximation of (Arum needs to blink, he is convinced he is mistaken for a moment before he realizes, no, that is almost certainly-) _his own_ mimic monster, recently killed and likely by this _oaf_, and Arum scowls as he uses the distraction of these fools to slip inside beside the rest of the cacophonous crowd without scrutiny.

Then, all he needs do is cross the ballroom and slip unnoticed deeper into the fortress.

(Arum is convinced, secretly, that the Senate chose to have him perform this task not simply because his body structure is close enough to these scrawny bipedal creatures to require minimal obscuring during a costumed party. If that were all that were required, one of those absurd nymphs would be the obvious choice. Humans _never_ notice their strangeness until it is _far_ too late, after all. No- Arum is convinced that the Senate chose him for this as an obscured _punishment_ for the failure of his former projects. _Acquire your own materials_. He sneers harder under his thick mask, since the expression will go unseen. _The timeline is fixed. Do not disappoint again, as a denial of the wishes of the Senate constitutes a denial of the wishes of the Universe itself_. Arum knows when he is being humiliated, and the need to infiltrate not only this disgusting Citadel but to do so during such a foolish event- it rankles, to say the very least. If the Senate did not have the power to damage his swamp and his Keep, he would laugh in their faces. He wishes he could. If he had his own way, he would not be involved in this nonsense at _all_. The thrill of challenge wore off at least three failed experiments ago.)

So. Yes. All he needs do is cross the ballroom.

Unfortunately, the humans have already begun to dance. There is a clustering of _musicians_, or what passes for them in human society, playing their instruments up closer to the creature who must serve as their Queen. He can’t tell what she is disguised as from this distance, but he can see the vague silhouette of wings up behind her. Extravagant, of course. He should expect as much.

The dais upon which the Queen is perched is surrounded by knights, guards, decorated armor but armor nonetheless. With the entire Citadel welcome inside these walls tonight, this is to be expected. They cannot risk the safety of their little ruler, after all. And with so much of their fighting force dedicated to bodyguarding, there is likely very little left to haunt the halls of the Queen’s private chambers. Why would they bother with more than a cursory guard, when the much more obvious potential for danger lies here? Here, where any rabble rouser or - he could almost laugh - sufficiently humanoid monster could creep in unnoticed, could creep close enough to pounce?

Beneath her, between Arum and his goal, is a squirming mass of humans, and if those fools above are performing what passes for music with these creatures, this must be what passes for dance. At least the rhythm is sturdy, if obnoxiously predictable and unvarying. He could creep around the outside of the dancers, but at the moment there are very few doing more than lingering there for a few moments at a time. It is still early enough in the evening that none seem compelled to rest for any noticeable period of time, and besides that, the knights are dotted along each wall, keeping a wary eye on the crowd.

If any human were to see through his garb it would be one of those most trained to slay his kind, of course, and he would prefer to keep as far away from that risk as possible. His best option is to cross the dance floor itself, so he can make it to the other side, where he can either distract and sneak past a guard through a door to the more inner chambers, or alternatively slip out onto the balcony where he can climb up a floor and reenter. He is leaning towards the second option just this moment, if only for the chance to breathe properly in the open air for a half second without the radiant heat of a thousand mammals stuffing up his snout.

He sets his jaw, fists his two free hands at his sides, and ventures into the crowd.

He makes it approximately four steps before he is jostled enough to unbalance him, and his tail smacks the floor in an automatic effort to keep him on his feet, which _thankfully_ does not appear to draw attention. It must have looked enough like the ‘false’ appendage simply wavering with his own steps. He barely has time to feel grateful for that, though, before a heeled foot steps immediately upon the end of his tail, and Arum’s snarl of shocked pain is too natural to suppress.

_Ridiculous human dance_, Arum thinks viciously as a pair of the creatures stop and take unfortunate notice of him, one with brow furrowed in confusion beneath rattlepanther face paint. Humans certainly do not snarl as Arum just did, and it is clear that these humans think they have heard _something_, even if they are not yet raising the alarm.

Arum freezes. This is incorrect, considering that every other creature in eyesight is in motion. More eyes turn to him, and Arum feels equal parts _stupid_ and _furious_. Of course his stillness is suspect. He is on the _dance floor_, and he is the only one not dancing. If he wishes to shake this scrutiny he will have to follow suit.

There is only one human nearby not already coupled, a slight thing staring off to the side of the dance floor and bouncing lightly on his feet, and Arum seizes the opportunity and the human before he can think too long about it, because he would rather dance than die, despite the embarrassment. He spins with two armfuls of alarmed human, then, staring doe-eyed up at him out of a decently stylish basilisk costume, with the mouth of the creature framing his face rather than obscuring it, with fangs above and below. The human scowls and frowns, and he stammers hard for a moment or two before he finds his tongue.

“P- I beg your- I do beg your leave, I was not looking to be-” he squirms slightly in Arum’s arms, but he seems too polite to pull away entirely. “I am _not_ unattached, I was merely waiting for my Rilla to return, and-”

Arum is still aware of the suspicious eyes of others upon him and cannot give up this shield just yet, cannot dip back into the crowd alone without arousing further suspicion, but if his new _partner_ will not cease his thrashing then the suspicion will follow him into the dance as well. He will have to appease the human, if only for a few moments, just until those who noticed him grow bored.

So, Arum leans down (far down), and he murmurs (he won't sound so monstrous in a murmur), “I am only stealing you for one dance, little basilisk.” The human blinks in surprise, and Arum can feel the heat that flushes the human's cheeks, and he pretends that this strange mammalian quirk is not… _interesting_. He pretends, and he keeps whispering. “I promise to release you when your partner returns. You are the only monster here who has interested me in the least, and I would take what little time you will allow me. Is this fair?”

The human has long since stopped stammering, and after a long moment he blinks again, and nods, and his hands find their proper places on Arum for the dance. “I suppose, I suppose that a single dance would not be… that is to say, just one dance couldn’t hurt. Could it?”

It only takes a few steps for Arum to find his stride. Human dance seems predictable, to say the least, and he manages a passable imitation rather quickly with this human in his arms, and he starts to slowly maneuver the pair of them across the dance floor, inching towards his goal and away from suspicious eyes. Of course, once his trajectory is planned, it becomes rather difficult to ignore the attention of the creature he is holding, to ignore the heat of his body or the curiosity in his eyes or the skill in his footwork as Arum moves with him.

And, perhaps, Arum finds dancing with this particular partner to be substantially more enjoyable than he could have expected. So enjoyable, perhaps, that he forgets to focus on the reason why he is _here_, for a minute or two.

"Your eyes are-" the human stops, smiles strangely beneath the fangs of his mask, "quite beautiful," he settles on. "They look almost… almost violet in this light. Like amethysts, sparking in the lanterns' glow. They are quite enchanting."

Arum's face is hidden well enough that he needs not conceal the way that twists his mouth into a strange smile of his own, and he laughs just low enough to disguise the rattle in his throat. "I thank you for the compliment," he murmurs, leaning close again. "It was phrased as elegantly as your steps, little basilisk."

“Elegance-” the human inhales sharply as Arum spins him, and when Arum pulls him back he laughs, and Arum realizes quite suddenly that he is not merely being influenced by the nature of this party, by the jaunty song drifting down from the dais. This human simply has a voice that rings like music, in laughter and in speech. So much so that, once his breathless laugh subsides, his next words are not so much of a surprise. “One could say that elegance of phrasing is a part of my trade. I am a poet, you see.”

“A poet,” Arum echoes, and if that idea delights him, there is no one but the poet himself to hear the warmth in his voice, or see the spark in his eyes. He is merely playing the role, isn’t he? Pleasing the human to maintain his cover. Flattering by necessity, not because he feels drawn to do so. Of course. “Such a strange basilisk I have caught, then. Delicate as honeysuckle, and just as sweet besides. Is there any venom at all in those fangs of yours?”

“I suppose you will only find the answer to that question if you provoke me to bite,” he lilts, and then his face flushes with heat again, and he looks just as surprised by his own boldness as Arum is. “I- that is to say-”

“I will endeavor not to deserve your ire, then, honeysuckle,” Arum says, and all this deception and merry-making must be going to his head, because even to his own ears his voice sounds _playful_. “For the moment, at least,” he adds, and the human breathes another bright little laugh.

“Do I- forgive me, I do not know you already behind that disguise, do I?”

“I would be dearly surprised if you did, honeysuckle,” Arum says dryly. “And even beneath such frightening attire, I would certainly remember someone like _you_.”

It is flattery only for the purposes of acquiring his goal, Arum reminds himself.

“Oh,” the human says, as if realizing something, and his smile goes apologetic for a moment. “How rude of me, then, not to introduce myself. I am Sir Damien,” he says softly, and every part of Lord Arum where Sir Damien is not touching him goes cold.

A _knight_. Arum has been twirling and embracing a _knight_, and for all this little human looks and sounds like some gentle, sweet-spoken thing, he has almost certainly destroyed his fair share of Arum’s distant kin. His steps go on automatic, but his mind spirals away in something he recognizes distantly as panic. He will not be discovered (of _course_ he will not, the idea is _ridiculous_), but if he _is_ then he will be in the worst _possible_ position. He does not know how he has managed to forget himself so thoroughly. Little basilisk knight with his honeysuckle nectar voice- what was Arum _thinking_?

Damien’s grip on Arum is soft as Arum leads him, his thumbs brushing light over Arum’s scales through his cloak, but now that Arum is paying attention he can see the subtle musculature of his shoulders and arms even through his costume, can feel the muted strength of his grip as the knight allows himself to be lead. Arum thinks, perhaps, that when Damien failed to pull himself away from Arum at the start of this encounter, it was politeness alone that kept him in Arum’s grasp. That idea is- it twists in Arum’s stomach. He does not know how he feels about it, besides simply that it makes him feel _something_.

“Though-” Sir Damien says, and the hesitant hope in his voice draws Arum’s attention back. “Though on the other hand, I suppose in revealing such I may have betrayed the spirit of the event.” He ducks his head, peeking up at Arum from beneath those shining false fangs. “You may continue to call me as you like, be that basilisk or honeysuckle. I find that I am enjoying playing the monster with you- er, playing such for the evening, rather, substantially more than I expected.”

Sir Damien is close. His skin is warm, the fangs of his mask are sharp, and Arum can hear the way his heart kicks faster when his words stumble.

_playing the monster with-_

Arum is rather enjoying playing the human. More so than he expected. _Far_ more, in fact, considering that he did not expect to enjoy it at _all_.

And when Damien looks up at Arum from beneath his false fangs with a soft, shy smile, Arum wonders how a knight such as this could survive, when he displays his warm little heart so openly, so easily. Then without thinking Arum pulls him closer, and Damien is terribly hot, pressed against Arum’s front like that. Arum wishes he had his other hands free, to hold him more securely, to draw him even closer.

Arum feels his own heart skip, like a stone on still water.

_Oh_, Lord Arum thinks. _Oh no_.

He becomes aware, again, of the humans that surround them. Of their noise, of the way their bodies press in on all sides. He releases his grip on the knight, a cool shiver racing across his scales. He steps back, and bows. “I- I must excuse myself,” he says, clipped. “Forgive me.”

“But-” Damien takes a half step closer, lifting one hand to cover his heart, and his mask does nothing at all to conceal the way his expression has fallen into confusion and disappointment. “But the dance is not finished yet, is it?”

“Forgive me,” Arum says again, and he is surprised to find that he means it more earnestly than intended. “I- I believe you have a partner you meant to return to, did you not? I am sure they are missing you, honeysuckle.”

Damien’s mouth curls further, sudden guilt, and when he glances away to try to catch sight of his original partner Arum takes another step.

“W-wait-” Damien follows another step in turn. “Please, I hope I have not offended you-”

“No, honeysuckle. Nothing of the sort,” Arum says, and isn’t sure why. It would be much easier to escape if the human thought he _had_ offended, wouldn’t it? “But I must take my leave.”

“Please,” Damien says, though he does not follow this time, and his voice has gone softer. Less certain. “I- I don’t even know who you are.”

And that truth is the only thing keeping Arum safe and alive, at the moment. So, Arum would not be able to explain, if asked, why he steps closer to the knight again, why he leans down close, why he breathes a few short words into Damien’s ear. “You may call me Arum,” he murmurs, “and I thank you for the pleasure of your company, for however brief a time.”

He straightens, and then imitates a gesture he has seen around the room many times already tonight. He lifts one of Damien’s hands, brings it to the mouth of his mask, and brushes the copper over his knuckles in a facsimile kiss.

Arum has no ready excuse for this action, either.

As Damien stares at him, lips parted but wordless, Arum does not give himself time to hesitate. He drops the hand. He sweeps away, taking quick purposeful steps, dodging artfully around the dancers now that he is intimately familiar with the motions involved, and he is outside on the balcony without a single human seeming to note him in what feels like the space of a breath. The other humans are all too enraptured with their own partners by now to pay him any mind, he thinks.

The balcony is cooler. Darker. Quieter. Only a few scattered humans have come out to rest where the air is clear. Arum takes a moment, breathing as deeply as he can beneath the metal adorning his face, and feels his own inadequacy and embarrassment like the skipping stone finally sinking beneath the surface, down into the muck.

Just another foolish little human, no different from the rest of his kind. Just another human, all too soon to perish with the rest of his species in this poorly constructed termite mound. Just another human, another thoughtless monster-killer destined to a death that fast approaches.

A death Arum will have a hand in.

He glances back over his shoulder. He does not mean to.

The people inside cannot see out into the darkness of the balcony, but Arum can very easily see in, can very easily pinpoint his former partner, standing amongst motion, staring in his direction without seeing him. He looks very small, like that.

Underneath his robes, Arum presses his claws into his ribs. Focus. He has a job to be doing. Nothing else matters if his Keep is not safe, and it will not be so again until the Senate has their attention safely away from him, once he performs his task. However interesting this one human might seem at a cursory glance, he cannot possibly matter.

_Basilisk_, Arum thinks, somewhere between fascination and disdain. He had asked about what venom was in those fangs, and Arum, oddly, feels _bitten_. Like something strange and hot is flowing through him in place of blood.

Ridiculous.

Ridiculous, and unhelpful besides. Arum walks purposefully towards the end of the balcony, where the railing meets the high wall of the central tower of the Citadel. He leans his back against the cool stone, and watches the small groups of people cooling off as they come and go. And when the opportunity presents itself, when none are close enough to see him, he begins to climb.

He will finish this task, and then he will return home, and then he will never need think of nectar nor venom again.

* * *

Rilla finds Damien standing, motionless among twirling skirts and cloaks, his hand over his heart and his face flushed, and she takes his hand in her own, raising an eyebrow.

“You looked like you were having _fun_ out there,” she says, and Damien jumps, spins, and his expression goes guilty when he recognizes her beside him. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Rilla!” he squeaks, and his shoulders hunch in misery when she leans close to kiss the cheek of his mask, since she can’t actually reach his face. “You- you were- you saw-”

“I saw you get swept off your feet a bit, I think.” She grins. “It was _cute_. I didn’t expect tall guys to be your thing. Though… there _was_ something odd about his gait,” she muses quietly, half to herself. Damien and the stranger had certainly looked lovely dancing together, and she could watch Damien make that dopey wide-eyed expression all _day_, but she had been distracted from the playful elegance of their movement by the way the stranger had moved in particular. Something about the way he stepped, about the way he seemed to counterbalance so easily with that fake tail- “Couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but… hm. Well, maybe if we stick around we’ll catch back up with your new friend later, yeah?”

“I- I- m-my _friend_?” he asks, looking even more flushed, more dazed. It’s pretty adorable, actually.

“I think it’s _my_ turn for a dance now, though,” she says slyly, slinking closer and winding her arms around him, the red and gold feathers of her phoenix costume tickling his neck. “I wanna see if I can make you go that starry eyed for _me_,” she teases as she tugs him into motion, and that, at least, seems to snap him back to coherency as his own hands find their familiar places.

“Oh Saint Damien above- oh Rilla I apologize, I shouldn’t have-”

“Shouldn’t have what, danced?” She smiles, and squeezes his shoulders through her feathered gloves. “Damien, I’m glad you were out there enjoying the party instead of wasting time waiting for me when you could be having _fun_.”

“But I should be dancing with _you_, not-”

“Damien.” Rilla tips back and Damien catches her without a thought, and she grins up at him. “You’re dancing with me _now_, aren’t you?”

“I-” he blinks, and when he pulls her back to her feet he laughs, just lightly. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

“Then dance with me, Damien,” she says, and if she presses closer to her fiance than is strictly proper for such a public event, no one is going to mention it. “Dance with me now, and maybe later on I might be convinced to share you with your friend again, if you promise to look that pretty every time you dance with him.”

“Rilla!” Damien squawks, cheeks delightfully pink, and then he laughs more brightly, and his hands settle upon her more securely, and Rilla wishes badly that his fangs weren’t in the way, because all she wants to do right now is kiss him.

But kissing can wait, just for a bit. After all, they have the whole night long to spend together.

In the meantime, in the low lantern light, they dance.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is he still a thief, if he returns what he has stolen?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I straight fucking lied when i said this was complete with the first chapter. I just never thought I would actually finish this chapter too. Fam i am so far gone on this mess. They're sending me to space. This is. Too Tense. Happy Lizard Kissin' Tuesday!!! ;3
> 
> Also chapter specific warning for a brief moment of (what i would call canon-typical) mild suicidal ideation on Arum's part. Just one parenthetical, really, but please take care of yourself if that's an issue for you! <3

Arum hears the rustle behind him, the distinct sound of an arrow being nocked, and he scowls beneath the warm copper of his mask in self-deprecation. Too distracted, tonight. Altogether too distracted-

“Do not move, villain,” says a clear, sharp, _familiar_ voice, and Arum grits his teeth. To keep from barking out a laugh, for the most part. “A knight of the Crown shall not suffer an intruder in her majesty’s chambers, not even on a night of such inverted morals as this.”

Arum does not move. He drops his hands from the closet in front of him, the silk catching on his claws, but he does not turn towards the human he suspects is standing at his back when he murmurs, “How did you know I was _here_?”

“A keen-eyed attendee happened to catch sight of your ascent,” the voice says, wry and insulted. “And the manner of your climb would suggest that either you have an inhuman proclivity for scaling walls, or that you are, in fact, _inhuman_ altogether. A _monster_, intruding upon our Citadel. So, which is it, fiend? Am I placing you under arrest, or does this arrow fly _now_?”

“I was under the impression we were _all_ monsters tonight,” Arum says, tilting his head, turning just enough to look over his shoulder. “And I thought that you were _enjoying_ playing so, little basilisk.”

Sir Damien’s aim does not waver, but his eyes widen, his expression cracking into flushed surprise. “Ah- _Arum_?”

“Honeysuckle,” Arum greets, turning more fully, and Damien stares down the shaft of his arrow at him like a stunned rabbit. The little knight is still in his costume, still staring out from between sharp little fangs, but he appears to have summoned a quiver to go along with that bow of his.

Arum could bolt. It would not be difficult. He is quick enough that he knows he could dodge that arrow before it pierces him. He could almost certainly leap to the window, or pounce upon the knight himself, or rush past him to the door.

He stands still, though. He stares at Sir Damien, and certainly it is curiosity and nothing more that holds him in place. Will the little knight fire? Will he try to fight? Arum’s palm remembers the shape of Damien’s hip and he clenches his jaw tight and tilts his head, watching, waiting to see if the little basilisk intends to strike.

"What-" Damien pauses, cheeks dark, bow steady. "What are you _doing_ up here?"

"Oh," Arum says. "Intruding, and taking what does not belong to me. _Obviously_."

Damien laughs, bright and surprised, and Arum swallows down the urge to step closer. "A _thief_," he chimes, and without taking his eyes off of Arum he shakes his head. "And so _brazen_ about it, are you?"

"I do not see why you should be surprised, honeysuckle," Arum says with a shrug. "I stole from you already, did I not?"

Damien blinks. "You- _what_?" The knight looks, for a moment, half tempted to check his pockets.

"I stole a dance. A rather daring theft, if I do say so myself, considering the obvious deadliness of my mark."

Damien laughs again, and Arum tries not to feel it as a victory. The knight seems entirely determined not to drop his aim, after all, and it isn't as if the laughter on its own is of any value, regardless of the strange way it makes Arum's hands flex.

"Are you armed, then, thief?" Damien asks, and then it is Arum's turn to laugh.

"Quite," he says. "Though I do not see the point of drawing knives upon an archer."

“So…” Damien tilts his head, his eyes narrowing, more curiosity than suspicion. “You intend to come into custody, then?”

“Not at all, honeysuckle.”

“I do not wish to fire upon you, friend dragon, but you seem keen on making that quite difficult for me,” Damien says, and his brow is furrowed though his voice is still bright.

“I am aware,” Arum says.

Damien stares at him, the moment stretching out as Arum watches the human, as the tightened bow waits for ease in one of two ways.

“Remove your mask,” Damien says, at length, and Arum can’t help the laugh, then.

“Are you certain, honeysuckle?” Arum asks, and he does not bother to conceal the way his voice goes halfway to purr. “Is that truly what you desire? You seemed quite concerned, when we danced, about not betraying… how did you put it… the _spirit of the event_. Has that changed?”

“We are not dancing any longer,” Damien says, quite seriously. “You have revealed yourself as a thief. _That_ is what has changed.”

“Oh, is that all that concerns you?” Arum says, and then he does take a step closer, finally. Damien raises the bow another inch, but Arum does not stop. He is curious. _Terribly_ curious. How far must he push, for this knight to do his duty? How many steps must Arum take, for the knight to fire?

(Certainly he can avoid the arrow, but even if he is mistaken it will be an acceptable outcome. If he is killed here, the Senate will not have the patience to wait for his replacement to grow enough to be useful to them. They will have no hold left upon the Keep, it will be useless to them without a familiar, an interpreter. His death will be unfortunate but it will still serve his purpose, it will still protect his home in however an unpleasant way, though for some strange reason he cannot seem to make himself believe that Damien actually will- that the knight will-)

“Stop,” Damien says, his authoritative tone cracking uncertainly in the middle. “Do not take another step or I shall-”

“We could dance again, if that is what you would prefer,” Arum says, ignoring his words and creeping another step closer. “I can still hear the music from below - quite fascinating acoustics, this tower seems to have - and there is enough room here to take another turn together.”

“I will not fall for your tactics of distraction,” Damien says, but he still has not fired, and Arum is still moving, still closing the distance. “I will do my duty-”

“If you do intend do shoot me, honeysuckle, you will need to do so before I am too close to shoot,” Arum says, mildly, and the tip of the arrow is mere inches from his chest. “Or, you may dance with me again, and perhaps when we are done I will give you what you request. I will show you my face, and then you may decide if you intend to follow through and loose your arrow at last.”

The arrowhead scrapes the purple of his cape, tickles his scales through the fabric, and Damien is looking up at him with such uncertainty that Arum can nearly hear the shouting in his mind. He can certainly hear the shouting of his heart, hammering away in that chest, and the sweet sharpness of his breath.

“I stole a dance from you downstairs, honeysuckle,” Arum says, quite softly, and then he lifts a hand. “Would you give one to me freely, now?”

“I-” Damien stares at him, his eyes so clear and bright beneath his mask. “I… I cannot hear the music, from here,” he murmurs, and Arum could laugh- the limited sensory ability of humans strikes again, it seems.

“I can hear it well enough for both of us,” he says, feeling reckless and absurd, his hand still in the air, and he knows he has won when Sir Damien breathes a laugh and, at last, he lowers his bow.

_Such a naive little fool_, Arum thinks without heat as Damien drops his arrow back into the quiver, as he puts his weapon away, as he eyes Arum curiously. _Such a ridiculous trick to fall for_.

Any moment now, Arum will set upon the knight. Damien’s warm hand takes his own, and he slots his body close to Arum’s again. Any moment. At any breath, Arum will knock this knight to the ground. Will set on him with his knives, will claw him open. Will _escape_. Damien raises an eyebrow, and looks up at Arum for the length of a few long, quiet breaths.

“You will have to lead, of course,” he reminds, softly. “The music is in your ears, Arum, not mine.”

This is the moment, of course. There is a task before Arum, and this knight is in the way. He and his pretty voice and his careful steps and his clever face. He is in the _way_. Arum is supposed to remove him, now. To perform the task that he must.

Arum begins to dance.

It is a slower turn than the one they took together down below. The band is playing gentler, now, easing the crowd into the middle of the evening. Damien follows deftly although he cannot hear the beat, his eyes a little guarded, and Arum feels strangely helpless before that gaze. He begins to hum along with the melody as he moves, and then the corner of Damien’s mouth curls up just slightly. That feels helpless as well.

“I know this tune,” Damien murmurs, swaying in Arum’s arms. He begins to hum as well, then, harmonizing with Arum as they move, the ease of the notes making something in Arum’s stomach twist oddly.

Arum almost doesn’t notice their movements gentling, doesn’t realize that the steps they are taking together are softening until the both of them are barely moving at more than a sway, and Arum does not think he could grow accustomed to Damien’s unwavering heat pressed close against him if they danced like this for the fullness of a year. Something about it makes him breathless, and he can hear the way his little basilisk’s heart is thudding, faster than the beat of the song.

“Arum,” Damien murmurs, and Arum realizes that they _have_ stopped moving, now, as Damien peers up at him from beneath his costume fangs. “I…” he pauses again, licks his lips, and then quirks them up into a hesitant smile. “I did not know dragons had such lovely voices.”

Arum breathes a laugh before he can stop himself, his hands on Damien’s sides squeezing lightly. “We don’t, little flatterer. You, however- I knew you had music in your voice downstairs. Even in speaking it rings like bells. A fine trait for a poet to possess, I should think.”

“Oh.” Damien laughs as well, eyes bright and playful. “Oh, you cannot call _me_ the flatterer when you speak so, Arum.”

“I suppose that is fair enough,” Arum says. Damien cannot see his answering smile behind the mask, and so he does not bother to try to hide it. “Then I will content myself to thank you for the compliment.”

Damien’s hands are easy and soft on Arum’s shoulders, and the knight stares up at him for a long moment before he clears his throat.

“Has- has the song ended, then?”

Arum blinks. “What?”

“You’ve stopped dancing.”

“O-oh.” Arum bites back a whirring rattle of embarrassment, and makes himself give a stilted laugh instead, pretending not to be strangely overwhelmed by the amused look the poet is giving him as he stammers. “No, it is still- I- I was simply- _distracted_-”

“Sir Damien?”

The booming voice is muffled by wood and stone, but it is not distant enough for comfort and it drops down Arum’s throat like a chunk of ice. Damien looks similarly stunned as they both jolt, surprise making Arum loosen his snug grip around Damien’s midsection.

“Sir Damien, have you found the intruder yet? There was nothing in the eastern tower-”

“Angelo,” Damien mutters, his expression a little wild, and then he looks up at Arum with fear and guilt both clear in his eyes, his own hands pressed to Arum’s chest.

“It seems our time has run out before our dance is finished, honeysuckle,” Arum murmurs, and he is torn between the urge to laugh and the urge to bury his face in his claws and scream. “I admit- I admit I am disappointed.”

Damien makes a choking sort of noise, and it shifts into something of a laugh as he steps back, pulling himself from Arum’s softened grasp. “Yes, I- I am as well. But-”

Arum sees the sharpness that has returned to Damien’s eyes, the stiffness that has returned to his posture.

“You have your duty, Sir Damien,” Arum murmurs. He will not die for this little knight, no. He may- Arum may have some strange fondness for him, may have made some foolish allowances, but- there is a window within reach and if he needs he can easily knock this human to the ground, at the very least-

Sir Damien does not draw his bow again, however.

He stands, only a foot or so away from Arum but distant and cool, now, and he mutters _tranquility_ under his breath three times like some sort of spell, and then he straightens his spine as he meets Arum’s eyes again.

“My duty,” Damien echoes, frowning. “You do not belong here in these chambers, of course, but- had you-” Damien hesitates, his hands flexing awkwardly at the strap of his quiver. “Had you taken anything before I found you, Arum?”

Arum works his jaw, clenching his teeth for a long moment before he answers, realizing only as Damien asks that he has been- _utterly_ distracted from his purpose by this little diversion. “No,” he admits in a hiss. “I was not expecting interruption quite so soon.”

“Then it seems that the only person you have stolen from,” Damien says, “is _me_. If you remove yourself from these chambers, there will be no further cause for conflict or alarm.”

Arum stares down at the knight. “You… you are… _full_ of surprises, little honeysuckle.”

“You stole a dance, as you said. I think in giving you another, we have evened that score. The only other thing you stole from me-”

He pauses, and Arum hears the poet’s heart stumble, hears his breathing pitch a little strange.

“What… what else have I stolen, little basilisk?”

Damien steps closer again, and Arum smothers another compulsive _noise_ as Damien’s hands find his shoulders. “A _kiss_.”

Arum blinks, and Damien bites his lip before he meets Arum’s eyes to continue, lifting his hands further to very, very lightly cup the cheeks of Arum’s mask, a thumb brushing down one of his stylized teeth.

“It was a rather innocent one, and with this barrier between us, of course. And I- I believe you told me that when we finished our dance, you would remove your mask.” Damien inhales, unsteady, before he continues, “Show me your face, Arum, and return the kiss you stole, and- and I shall have no cause to call you a thief. I will be content to consider this a mistake, and you may leave without harm.”

Arum realizes that his own heart is pounding, too, from some combination of desire and despair. He wants-

Arum wants many foolish things, just now. This ridiculous human revelry has caught him up in its net, and his mind is spinning with song and heat and touch and laughter and all of this has been too much like a dream, too much altogether, and if he means to survive, he must _wake up_.

Letting Sir Damien know the face of the monster he has been in the arms of for much of the evening might serve to do just that, Arum thinks, perhaps a little wildly. This dream will certainly not survive _that_ shock. Not for either of them.

Arum inhales, swallows, and with his heart still pounding he nods.

“If those are your terms, honeysuckle,” he says, his voice low in the effort not to shake. “Lift my mask, then. I shall do as you say, return the kiss I stole, and then I will- I will leave.”

Damien stares up at him, his eyes flicking between Arum’s, and after a moment his gentle hands push the mask up, and just as Arum suspected the knight’s eyes go wide with shock when he sees Arum’s face through the dark.

Damien seems stunned to stillness, near to a statue, and Arum can hear the footsteps of the other unwelcome humans slowly growing closer, and Arum still feels _mad_ with this evening, still feels the rhythm of his heart or the rhythm of the dance downstairs beating through his very bones, and Damien has not leapt instantly to attack and that is certainly only the _shock_ of Arum as he truly is, but-

Before Arum can reconsider, he leans down.

He is only doing as Damien asked, of course.

Damien makes a muffled noise as the thin line of Arum’s lips presses against his own, and Arum barely knows what he is doing but Damien kisses _back_ after only the briefest of pauses and the heat of his skin is even more pleasant like this, his breath even sweeter when gasped against Arum’s scales, and Arum realizes that he has lifted his hands to cup Damien’s face only after he has already done so.

Damien breaks the kiss but does not pull back just yet, pressing his forehead against Arum’s as they both breathe, as they both find their footing again.

“Have I provoked you to bite, yet, little basilisk?” Arum hisses against Damien’s lips, and the poet gasps, his hands flexing against Arum’s shoulders.

“Sir Damien?”

The voice is far too close for comfort, now, likely only a room or so away. Arum does not have time to understand what he has just done, what Damien has allowed. He only has survival. The other knights-

They will not be like his little basilisk. He knows that, at the very least.

Damien stumbles back a step, pressing a hand to his mouth with his cheeks painted so very dark, and when he lifts his eyes to meet Arum’s again, Arum-

Arum hears the latch move on the door. The song is over, and they are out of time.

Arum flips his mask back down over his face, stares at Damien for only one more heartbeat, and then he turns to spring towards the window, back into the night and the noise outside.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are attempting to be _fair_. There is still at least one dance that is owed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so fucking gay y'all. can i mention again this was supposed to just be a one shot? how LONG is this now? oh my god. anyway now there HAS to be a fourth chapter, because i completely changed how this chapter was supposed to end and things have gone entirely off the rails again. this is a mess. hit me up on tumblr if you wanna know how this was SUPPOSED to end. also please go listen to the new episode i'm DYING.

Arum descends, his mind still roiling and disbelieving, and his claws click lightly on the stone when he reaches the balcony level again, but there is no one close enough by to hear, or to see. No sharp-eyed attendees attend his presence, this time.

As such… Arum indulges one more moment. He glances towards the window above, and through the darkness and the curtains he can see nothing in truth. He imagines shadows in the room, at least. Imagines the shape of his honeysuckle, awkwardly explaining his absence to a colleague, explaining that he had, of course, found nothing of interest in the Queen’s chambers.

... Arum still does not understand.

Many things, if he is being honest with himself, as he so rarely is. He does not understand Sir Damien, does not understand this sharp-fanged little basilisk with his lilting voice and his gentle eyes, his sharp arrows and his bright laugh. He does not understand why a knight would ever, _ever_ suffer a monster to live. Not under _any_ circumstances, let alone such ridiculous ones as these.

Humans. Baffling creatures… though, not quite in the way Arum expected them to be. He turns his attention towards a sharp noise back inside, looking through the sheer curtains into the party, and he watches a pair of human hatchlings - children, he thinks - laughing uncontrollably beneath their chickenfeather-harpy costumes as they swing each other's hands back and forth. Arum shakes his head quickly, turning away, and then he gives the window above one more glance.

Arum does not understand his own reactions, either. The knight failed to perform his duty- but Arum has done much the same. The knight should be _ dead_.

Two dances, and Arum is made a fool. He scoffs at himself, digging the claws of his hidden lower hands into his midsection to try to suppress the way his stomach jumps in discomfort, and… he is still staring at the window above. He does not have time for this. He does _ not_. He should already be on his way home in the understanding that this evening has been a _ failure_, or better yet he should be looking for _ some _ way to salvage this, some other alternative focus he can select for his prototype. There is no cause for him to waste time in musing, he can worry over his own stupidity in the Keep, when he is _ safe_-

“Hey there, stranger.”

Arum whirls on the voice, realizing quite a bit too late that there is a human closer than is comfortable. He manages, by a fraction, not to hiss instinctively. His cover may not be completely intact anymore, but that is no reason to toss it out while it may still serve him.

The human is small, though not as small as his basilisk- as Sir Damien, rather. Her mask is brassy, with a sharp pointed beak over her nose, beneath which she is grinning at Arum in a way that would put him instantly on edge, were he not already tense to begin with.

She is also, decidedly, in the way of his current escape route, back through the party.

“Er- greetings,” Arum awkwardly grates out, and the human’s grin, if anything, tilts wider. “If you will pardon-”

“Nah, I don’t think I’ll pardon. Care for a dance?”

Arum stares down at her, wondering if the sheer force of his confusion and irritation are properly conveyed through his mask. “No.”

She raises an eyebrow, shimmering red and gold dusting her dark skin in stylized flaming streaks. “No?”

“I am _leaving_, I do not have-”

“It’s Arum, right?”

Arum flinches, then freezes, and he is glad, at least, that the human cannot see his panicked face.

“Excuse me?” he barks. “Who- how-”

“You’re the one who stole a dance from my partner earlier tonight,” she says slyly, coming closer while he stands stock-still.

“You-” Arum swallows uncomfortably, glancing again towards the window above for a moment, but he still cannot see anyone looking down towards the balcony. “You are attached to h- Sir Damien, then?”

“Yeah, you could say that.” She shrugs. “So what I figure is, you technically stole a dance that should have been mine, right?”

“I- I don’t have time for-”

“So you _owe_ me a dance, then.”

“_What_?”

She grins, the sharp white curve of her teeth intersected by the triangle of her mask’s beak, and she edges even closer, and despite Arum’s instincts he knows he cannot back away or else it will show too much weakness in front of this little creature. He cannot obey the traitorous instincts urging him to lean into her mammal heat, either. Obviously.

“I _said_ you owe me a dance, Arum, and you look like you’re about to bolt out of here, so I know I gotta take what’s owed to me _now_ or I might not get another chance.” Her smile shifts a little less predatory, a little more warm instead of hot, and she lifts her hand towards him in request. “Just one dance. One dance won’t kill you, will it?”

Arum does not look back up towards the window above, does not look over the human’s shoulder to see if any knights are coming their way, and thinks that perhaps, just maybe, it _ might _ kill him. There is something undeniable in her eyes, though. Something in the certainty of her posture and her smile. And-

Dancing with Damien had been… not unpleasant. It stands to reason that if this little creature is his usual partner, it is likely that she will be similarly skilled, will she not? And Arum _ may _ have already settled his debts, so to speak, with Damien, but this human cannot possibly know that, and- and Arum still needs to cross the room again, to make his escape. None would expect a thief to return to cavorting and revelry after he was nearly found out, would they?

He has waited too long in the consideration. The human leans just slightly closer, and one of her hands reaches, brushing her gloved fingers (still impossibly hot, a phoenix she is dressed as and she has equal fire, certainly-) against his own, and without thinking he spreads his fingers, allowing her to take his hand properly.

Well. The decision is made, though he is still not convinced that he is the one who made it.

Arum steps closer, breath leaving him in a sigh, and her eyes go bright and delighted above the curve of her beak.

“I suppose… if the fairness matters so much, if settling the score is so very _important_ to you, little phoenix-”

Her other hand moves to the correct place upon him, but then slips past that, just skirting the edge of propriety as she slots herself a little too close, very much too warm. Must all these creatures run hearth-hot?

“I’m not, really. Concerned with the fairness, I mean,” she says with a wicked little grin as they begin to sway together. “It _is_ a really good excuse, though.”

Arum-

_ Laughs_. A helpless little breath of it escapes between his teeth, and apparently that encourages her because her grin grows wider.

Arum's estimations of her dancing prowess were correct, in a way. She is not unpleasant to dance with, as Damien was not, but her style is markedly different. Damien dances with a certain elegance, a feeling of controlled grace. This little phoenix is skilled, but there is more joy here than elegance by a wide gulf. She knows precisely what she is doing, but she clearly intends to enjoy every step, regardless of propriety or decorum. An admirable attitude, so far as Arum is concerned.

"You are unconcerned with your former partner as well, then?" Arum asks, because it seems like something a human _ would _ care about. The little phoenix gives her own laugh, tossing her head back to do so, and the unselfconsciousness of the gesture makes Arum's frill shiver with the desire to flare beneath the constriction of his mask.

"I'm almost _ always _ concerned about Damien in _ one _ way or the other," she says with a shrug that shifts her skin against Arum's palm. "But considering that he's run off from a party to do work - _again_ \- I don't think he'll mind too much if I find someone else to entertain me for a little while."

"I am not _ entertainment_," Arum grumbles, but his footwork does not falter with the complaint, and the way her eyes glint as she smirks up at him makes the claim feel rather flimsy.

"Besides," she continues, entirely ignoring his protest, "it'd be pretty hypocritical for him to complain about it, don't you think?"

"I- I suppose-"

"He knows how to pick a partner, though," she says, and there is no small degree of smugness in her tone as she guides their steps in a gentle sort of circle around the wide balcony. "You're kind of a natural at this."

"O-oh," Arum says. While they dance, he cannot exactly look _ away _ from her, cannot distract himself from the warmth of her body or her words. "Oh. Th-thank you." He pauses, attempting for a long moment to focus more on his surroundings, and then he processes the words the human spoke aside from her compliment. "Though- though, I picked _ him_, not the other way around."

"Hm," she says. "Out of curiosity, why _ did _ you pick him, anyway? It's a big sort of party, lots of folks to choose from…"

"He-" Arum stutters, but there do not appear to be any further words ready to rise to his tongue.

_You are the only monster here who has interested me in the least_. Those were the words he whispered into Sir Damien's ear when first he gathered the knight into his arms, and- and Arum, at the time, had assumed himself a _ liar_. He is unsure, now, if he had been, but that memory-

Elegant little basilisk with longing in his eyes, still amidst a sea of movement, drawing Arum's attention as bright as the rising sun-

"He has… an air about him," Arum settles on, his voice stilted and soft, and the little phoenix gives a much more gentle smile, then.

"He really does, doesn't he?" She sighs, and when she glances back up at him from beneath her mask her expression is wry. "Alright, okay, I should stop teasing. It's not like I can blame you for being charmed- _ or _ for being charming."

Arum barks a laugh, too surprised to do anything else. "_Charming_-"

"You were gonna leave before I interrupted, right? Let me dance you across the ballroom, at least. Then you can just take off, if you'd like."

Arum blinks down at her, utterly baffled. "Are all-" he pauses, "_people _ from this Citadel like the pair of you?" Arum asks incredulously, tilting his head as he looks down at the creature in his arms.

"Like what?"

Arum opens his mouth, then snaps it shut again quickly.

Compelling, he had nearly hissed. _ Enthralling_. Fascinating and clever and warm and draped with a deceptive air of comfort, despite the fact that Arum knows that an ounce more of carelessness with either of these creatures would spell certain death.

She stares at him as he flounders. He snaps his teeth together again reflexively, then grasps for other words.

"Humans of the Northern Wilds have a reputation for- for a lack of hospitality. You and your basilisk have quite decidedly failed to live up to that reputation."

She looks delighted by this claim, her hands flexing against him in a way Arum attempts to ignore. "Hm, well, I can't say that reputation isn't _ absolutely _ well earned," she says, almost viciously. "Honestly I'm kind of surprised that you managed to get through to Damien, he can be a little intense at first."

Arum laughs again. "Intense," he echoes. "Yes… well, he was certainly _ that_, though I do not think he was inhospitable." He pauses again, and he remembers the calmness of Damien's eyes, even over his raised bow, and the delicacy of the smile he gave when he lowered it at last, and let Arum take his hands again. "Despite the fact that, perhaps, I _ deserved _ a degree of inhospitality."

She laughs brightly, and Arum's mouth curls into an unbidden smile beneath his mask, and then she shakes her head and her hands upon him squeeze very slightly. A little warning, he realizes, before she shifts her footing and their trajectory, and then she begins to back away with him, leading him off of the balcony and back towards the rest of the party inside. "C'mon, stranger," she says warmly. "One more dance, and then you'll be free to escape all this ballroom drama. Saints know I wish I could join you- this is all a bit too formal for me to sink my teeth into."

"It has been… less tedious than I anticipated," Arum admits, rather than considering what this creature would prefer to do with her teeth.

"Yeah," she says, playful again, "it seems like you've managed to enjoy yourself, huh?"

Arum huffs, but he bites down on his retort so he may instead focus on maintaining his steps now that he needs to worry about other surrounding humans again. The ballroom is so much warmer than the balcony air, though his phoenix is hotter still in his arms, and the combination of heat seems to blur his vision at the edges.

"If you thought it was gonna be so awful," she says, "why come? If you were worried about our reputation around here, you must come from pretty far off."

"I-" Arum hesitates, considers his possible lies, but the sharpness of her eyes upon him makes him suspect he will have better odds with the truth. Or- part of it, at the very least. "A rather frustrating obligation," he settles on, after a moment. "A job in the city I must complete before I may return home and care for my-" he cuts himself off, digging for a way to explain that a human would understand. "To care for my _ family_, as I am meant to."

"Attending the masquerade is part of your job?" she asks, her eyebrow raising, and Arum sighs because the absurdity of the situation is very much not lost on him.

"Unfortunately, yes. Or-" he pauses, then breathes a light, dizzy laugh as he and the little human spin in a tight circle. "Perhaps… perhaps the obligation has proven itself to be not _ entirely _ unfortunate."

She smiles again, and Arum's stomach jumps with a sensation like both pleasure and panic. He swallows uncomfortably, and when she moves with pointed confidence he acquiesces, spinning her out and then pulling her back against his chest.

They are already near to the other side of the ballroom again, the crowd thinning around them as they approach the exit, but Arum still feels as if he is sinking into the warmth of the air, the warmth of his thick cape and those confident hands-

Her hands- not only are they so shockingly _ warm _ upon him, but they will not stay _ still_. He is distracted, trying to keep his mind on his steps while her touch and her sly smirk pull his attention elsewhere, and he does not realize quite quickly enough where she is touching until he feels her fingers, curling around the back of his neck. Her touch runs down his spine, brushing the bony ridge at the base of his neck, and he can’t quite suppress the way that makes him shiver and hiss.

Her lips part, her eyebrow raising again as her head tilts in a thoughtful sort of way, and Arum’s feet stumble to a halt.

They both attempt the first syllables of words at the same time, then, hers a baffled question and his a sharp deflection, but they are both interrupted.

"Rilla!"

The little phoenix turns, just slightly, not pulling away from Arum's grasp upon her. She's _ smiling _ again, even, as she watches Sir Damien half-leap down the stairs from near the Queen's dais, bolting through the crowd towards the exit, towards them.

"Hm," she says, her eyes sparking with distinct amusement as Arum attempts (and fails) not to feel panic welling again, without the lance of strange pleasure this time. "I didn't think he'd _ actually _ get jealous, not after we-"

"Unhand my Amaryllis- unhand my _ fianc__ée_, villain!"

Arum would do precisely as Sir Damien commands, if his limbs did not feel as immobile as a copse of dead trees. Damien's clarion-call voice draws the attention of nearly the entire ballroom, citizen and soldier alike. It looks, from Arum's horrified vantage, as if every single human face, however disguised, now turns towards Arum and his current partner, who is evidently named _ Amaryllis_. Even the music has slackened, the instruments pattering off into pathetic whining before they cease entirely.

Arum's thoughts wind down in a similar fashion, to a blank nothing that almost _ screams_.

_ It seems our time has run out before our dance is finished_, he thinks again as Damien swims through the stilled dancers, an echo of a lament. Amaryllis pulls slightly towards Damien as he draws close. She pulls against Arum's stiff arms, and he-

There is a moment. He considers the possibility.

He is well within leaping distance to the doors, to the exit, and there is little chance the knight would aim his bow at his own partner, if Arum simply- _ grabbed _ her and did not let go when he leapt.

But Amaryllis glances back towards him when she feels how wooden his grip has gone, glancing up at his face with- _ sympathy _ of all things as she squeezes one of his hands, and Arum feels like a _ monster_, in the most human of possible senses. He feels like a beast for even considering it.

He forces his grip on the little phoenix to slacken, and he takes a half step back.

Amaryllis gives him one last look of confusion and concern before she slips entirely out of his grasp, moving to place herself between Arum and the knight, her hands raised, placating.

"It was just a _ dance_, Damien, I didn't think that you'd-"

"You," Damien hisses, not pushing _ past _ Amaryllis but certainly not hearing her as he glares at Arum. "_You_-" he snarls, and his hands twitch against his bow, the muscles of his arms _ tensing_, and Arum-

Arum stares at the knight, stands perfectly still, completely stiff, and he is utterly _ certain _ that he is about to die.

"I asked _ him _ to dance, Damien, not the other way around. Just-"

"With this _ beast_," Damien snarls, and Arum's heart clenches almost painfully, although the citizenry staring at the three of them do not seem to recognize Damien's words as only _ honest_, rather than hyperbolic.

Arum could still attempt to leap, to escape, but without a hostage he is far less certain that he will not be shot in the spine. If he is going to die, he would rather face it directly. He would rather see the arrow as it comes.

Damien clenches his teeth, his tawny eyes gone ferocious and sharp, and it is only Amaryllis' hands upon his wrists that prevent him from lifting the bow in that precise moment.

"How _ dare _you-" Damien's hands shake under Amaryllis' palms. "After- after I- _monster_-"

"Honeysuckle-"

Damien blanches at the word, at Arum's voice, so very quiet beneath the din of concerned murmurs at the knight's back. Damien hesitates, only for a moment, the fury in his eyes softened with confusion, and Arum forces himself to continue.

"I-" Arum pauses, inhales sharply, tries again. "I was enjoying… _ playing _ the monster too much, I think." He pauses again, inhales more slowly, ignores the tightness in his throat. "F-forgive me."

Arum drops his eyes, then, but no arrow comes and the pause draws long enough to be worrying in and of itself. Arum hazards a glance up at Sir Damien again, and he-

The conflict is so clear upon him as to be nearly palpable. Arum thinks that perhaps he would be able to _ taste _ it, if the copper of his mask were not stifling his tongue.

Damien still grips his bow in one hand, but the other he lifts, his fingers brushing almost absently over his own lips before he seems to realize what he is _doing_, and then he presses his palm over his mouth entirely. Amaryllis frowns hard when Damien glances towards her, and then when the poet shoots another look towards Arum, the monster only stands, and waits, and does not allow himself to hope.

"You-" Damien cuts himself off, clenching his jaw hard, his brow furrowing in obvious distress, and then Arum can see the precise moment the poet decides his course of action. The wild determination that bleeds across his features is precisely as blatant as his former conflict. "You have slighted me this night, my fellow beast," Damien says, and his voice is loud and clear again, though Arum can clearly make out the falsity overlaying it now. Amaryllis can quite obviously sense his performance, too, and the bafflement in her expression makes for a good companion to Arum's own stunned shock. "My Rilla's honor _ must _ be defended!"

Arum blinks, and the murmurs behind the knight take on a tittering, conspiratorial quality. "A-ah-"

"I demand you duel me!"

"Damien," Amaryllis attempts to interrupt, her tone entirely incredulous, but Damien grips her wrist and shakes his head sharply.

"For my Rilla's honor!"

Damien's tone is insistent, his expression pointed and firm, his eyes framed between the fangs of his mask and still so… compelling. He is _ prompting_, and Arum must push past his shock if he wants to- to take the hand that Sir Damien is offering.

"If- if that is what must be done to put this conflict to rights… so be it."

"It is," Damien snarls. "Obviously, we must- _ discuss _ the _ terms _ of this duel privately. Let us take the matter _ outside_," he says, his voice managing to be both pointed and toneless, and then nearly as an afterthought he adds, "you cur," and it is all that Arum can do to bury his urge to snort a laugh.

The fact that he feels near-hysterical with the sheer absurdity of this entire evening certainly does not help with that urge, either.

Arum pauses as if considering, flicks his tongue without meaning to beneath his mask (the scent of copper stuffs his snout), and then he nods. "If you… insist."

"I _ do_," Damien says with clear relish, and then he gestures towards the door. "Outside. _ Now_."

Arum stares at Sir Damien for another wondering moment as his frown deepens, as his eyes widen and his gesturing hand flutters in the air again, and then Arum nods, and turns, and retreats, with his basilisk and his phoenix following in his wake.


End file.
